1. Fingergun. On Saturday, I went with Brennan and that blind bastard Phillips to a homebrewing competition in Ste. Genevieve. Because Phillips is, as I said, a blind bastard, I stood behind the table in case of pouring emergencies when Brennan went to the bathroom. While I was back there, a couple from Sikeston walked up to try the beer and started chatting with us. It was quickly apparent that we were dealing with some human oddities; while not obviously crazy, they did share an awful lot of information in a very short time, and I’m suspicious of people who do that because a) I don’t necessarily want to hear about someone’s problems, and b) damn, why you lettin’ errbody up in your business?

At one point in the conversation, the female of the couple was telling me how much she hated living in Sikeston (well, duh, you’re down by Arkansas in meth country*). To illustrate her point, she told me that their next door neighbor shot her own husband while he was sleeping.

“The bullet went in through here,” she said, pointing at her cheek, “and out through here,” and she pointed at her ear.

I was just finishing up my “oh my god I can’t even believe that” eyeroll when I felt something thisclose to my face. Focusing my eyes, I saw a finger belonging to the male of the couple. It was in the shape of a gun. I’d barely had time to register that this man was fingergunning my face when he said, “BANG! You’re dead.”

“Yes,” I replied. “It would appear that I am.”

And although Phillips is most certainly a blind bastard, I wasn’t fooled by his pretend unawareness when the couple moved only two feet away and Phillips loudly said, “Those people are fucking crazy.”

2. Clipping your nails at work. I work in an office. More specifically, I work in an office for a Fortune 200 Company. While I fully embrace the casual leanings of our new-ish, non-American ownership (jeans every day, open office plans!), I think that some people are taking advantage.

Namely the people who clip their fucking fingernails at fucking work.

Really, people? You honestly have no other time to groom yourselves? You can’t possibly wake up a little earlier in the morning to take care of those gross personal habits that no one, sometimes not even your own spouse, wants to see? Or perhaps you have superhero fingernails that will grow way too gnarly by 5pm, and this is why I hear that disgusting chink chink chink noise when I’m trying to do my job over here.

Speaking of my job, we’re fucking busy. I know you haven’t noticed, but while you’re running your own private spa over there, I am drowning in the workload you’ve chosen to ignore, and I’d be a lot less stressed about it if you’d fucking wait until you get home to clip your goddamn nails. That shit is gross.

3. Tapping them on the desk while asking someone a question. Earlier this evening, I went to a volunteer orientation at KDHX. They put out a call for web writer volunteers about a month ago. I sent some samples, got approved, and went to the class thing. There were nine of us there, with four prospective writers (including me). One of the writers was a middle-aged dude who works in advertising. The other two were unwashed, malnourished-looking students whose experience including writing for their school papers. When the refugee-ish writer girl asked the moderator a question, she did so while tapping her fingers on the table.

Oh, refugee-ish writer girl…as a student, I can’t imagine you understand things like professional courtesy or true social maturity. Which is fine, because you have plenty of time (and apparently money) with which to learn. However, because I have witnessed the appalling behavior of many so-called academics in my day and can’t trust a professor to tell you this, I wish to impart the following information: tapping your fingers on a hard surface while speaking to someone is rude. It’s irritating. It’s distracting. It tells everyone within earshot that you are bored with the conversation and never learned any fucking manners besides. You seem nice and quiet otherwise, so please stop tapping your fingers.

Although…the unwashed, malnourished-looking students have apparently already heard from the web editor and I have not (my approval came secondhand, I guess), so it stands to reason that they are probably better than me. Well. At least I know how to take a shower.

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About erineph

I'm Erin. I have tattoos and more than one cat. I am an office drone, a music writer, and an erstwhile bartender. I am a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. Things I enjoy include but are not limited to zombies, burritos, Cthulhu, Kurt Vonnegut, Keith Richards, accordions, perfumery, and wearing fat pants in the privacy of my own home.